W is for Winterspoon Tales
by Lumosthecat
Summary: Summary: Eight yearold Don came home from school one day feeling sick. This is my response to the Summer Alphabet Challenge.


**W is for Winterspoon Tales**

_Summary: Eight year-old Don came home from school one day feeling sick. This is my response to the Summer Alphabet Challenge._

_Disclaimer: NUMB3RS is the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nicolas Falacci and I have no legal rights to the characters and their backgrounds._

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Eight year-old Don climbed down the steps of the school bus, head bowed and his feet dragging. He lifted his head up slowly to look for his mom, and, upon seeing her, slowly shuffled his way towards her, without his usual enthusiasm or energy. Margaret Eppes noticed Don's sluggishness immediately and, letting go of Charlie's hand, rushed to Don's side.

"Honey, what's wrong?" She put her arm around him and gently placed her palm against his cheek.

"My tummy hurts real bad. And my head hurts, too." Don's eyes looked pitifully up at his mom.

Concern flashed across Margaret's face as she felt how hot Don's face was against her hand. In response to her motherly-concern, she picked up her eldest son without a second thought and carried him the half block towards their house. Charlie walked quickly behind her.

"Is Donnie okay, mommy?"

"He's just a little sick, Charlie. He might have the flu. His classmates and the other neighborhood kids have been coming down with something."

"Will be alright?"

"Of course he will."

Don listened half-heartedly to the conversation. He knew he ought to be embarrassed because some of his friends probably saw his mom pick him up at the bus stop and carry him home, but he just couldn't work up the energy to ask her to put him down. Plus, it felt so nice to be wrapped in his mother's arms. It was so warm and cozy, and her neck and shoulder were just the right size and shape to rest his heavy head on.

"I'm just going to tuck you in, okay baby. I'm going to make your favorite chicken soup and bring some up when it's done, with a big glass of juice and water. You need to get some rest." Don felt himself being lowered onto a soft mattress. She must have carried him all the way up the stairs to his bedroom. He hadn't even noticed.

She removed his shoes, carefully helped him into some pajamas and then gently put the covers over him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

She started towards the door and nearly collided with her youngest son. Charlie had followed her into Don's room and was looking at his big brother with worry evident in his eyes.

"He'll be fine. I promise. Come on, now, you can help me make Don a special meal to make him feel better." She took Charlie's hand and had to tug him towards the doorway, as he was reluctant to leave Don's side, his footsteps hesitant as he looked back at his brother. Don's eyes had drifted close and his chest was rising and falling steadily.

"See, he's sleeping now. Let's give him time to sleep, okay?"

Charlie nodded silently and, eyes still trained on Don, followed his mother out the door.

Margaret busied herself in the kitchen to cook some homemade chicken soup and finish getting dinner ready for her, Alan and Charlie. While she worked, Charlie sat at the kitchen table, absently swinging his legs back and forth underneath the chair, drawing on the paper that he had left there before his mom and he had gone to wait for Don at the bus stop.

He snuck glances at his mom, trying to determine if she was paying attention to him. She was bustling back and forth from the fridge to the counter to the stove, and when he was sure that she wouldn't notice, he slid down off of the chair and tried to make his way back up the stairs towards Don's room. His back was to the kitchen, so he never noticed Margaret turn at the small noises behind her and watch, with an indulgent smile on her face, as her youngest son crept up the stairs, with his favorite blue blanket trailing behind him.

Charlie poked his head into Don's room and saw that he was still sleeping. Charlie's short little legs made their way cautiously towards the bed. He frowned when he saw Don was tossing and turning in the bed a bit, making small sounds every so often. Worried, Charlie grabbed the chair beside Don's desk and struggled to move it closer to the bed. Finally, he heaved himself onto it and looked at his older brother.

"Stupid germs. Bad germs. Why are you hurting my big brother?" He whispered angrily, his young face bunched up in a pout. He did not know that heroes like Don could get sick. He did not like the germs at all.

Don must have heard Charlie because he opened his eyes slightly and saw his little brother sitting on the chair beside his bed.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Hi, Don. Mom's making you soup. I just wanted to keep you company for a while until it's done. That's okay, right?"

Charlie looked anxious for a moment, until he saw his brother's slight nod.

"Talk to me, Buddy."

Charlie watched as his brother closed his eyes, and, not knowing what to say to him, decided to tell him about the Fibonacci sequence that he was memorizing.

He noticed that Don was sort of out of it, but continued to talk about math. He clutched his favorite blanket to him, a quilt his mom had made for him with the symbols of pi sewn in a repeated pattern throughout. He rubbed it against his face, a habitual gesture he did whenever he was upset.

Don was very sleepy and a bit nauseous. He was only half-listening to Charlie but was comforted by the sound of his voice. He had no idea what he was talking about, it all sounded like nonsense to him, but Charlie seemed to know exactly what it was. It was only a few months ago that he and his mom had noticed that Charlie was crazy about numbers and could do things like multiply huge numbers in his head. Ever since then, Charlie had been doing lots and lots of tests, and they never got a chance to play together anymore. He sort of missed it. Charlie was all right for a little brother.

Don fell back asleep and, once Charlie had noticed, he stopped talking and, very carefully, so as not to disturb Don, crawled into the bed and lay down beside his brother. Once settled, he put his hand on Don's chest and began to pat it softly, like his mom did to him whenever he wasn't feeling well. He kept up with the ministrations until he too fell asleep.

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A couple of hours later, Alan arrived home from work without the usual fan fare from his boys (who normally ran screaming towards him for a quick, whirlwind spin).

"Where are the boys, Margaret?" He asked as he came up behind her in the kitchen to give her a hug and soft kiss.

"Don came home this afternoon feeling sick. I put him to bed right away and made him some soup but he and Charlie were sleeping when I brought it up an hour ago."

"Charlie's with him?"

"Wild horses couldn't tear that boy away from his big brother," Margaret said, with a smile on her face.

"It's almost dinner time. I'll check in on Donnie, see how he's doing, and get Charlie to come down."

"Thanks. I'll finish setting the table."

Alan opened the door to Don's room and quietly made his way to the bed. He saw two lumps under the blankets, one much larger then the other. Reaching down, he put his hand on Don's cheek and noticed that it was still slightly warm. Leaning down, he placed a loving kiss on his forehead, while gently nudging the smaller figure on the bed.

"Come on, Charlie. It's time to eat."

Sleepy eyes met his from above the blanket. "What about Donnie?"

"Don needs to sleep so that he can feel better."

"Can't I stay? Pleeeeeeease…" Charlie asked in a pleading tone.

"Charlie," Alan said sternly. "You have to eat so that you don't get sick. Eat first and when you're done, maybe Don will be awake and you can sit with him again."

Grudgingly, Charlie slipped out of the bed and followed his dad. Don slept on, snoring quietly in the bed.

At the table, Charlie tried to eat at a break neck speed, anxious to get back to Don to make sure that he was all right.

"Slow down, Charlie. You need to chew your food." Margaret admonished him gently.

"I'm almost done. Can I go see Donnie now?"

Alan looked at Charlie's nearly full plate and said, "Try to eat a little bit more. And slow down, Charlie. Donnie's not going anywhere."

The Eppes family had almost completed their meal when they heard the faint sounds of someone calling out upstairs.

Charlie immediately jumped out of this chair and raced back up the stairs towards Don's room.

"Don, Don, Don." Charlie chanted as he came to a halt in front of Don's bed. Don was awake and asking for something to drink.

Charlie nodded and quickly turned, almost tripping over his own feet, to go into the kitchen and get whatever Don wanted.

He bumped into his father who was already standing there, a glass of juice and a bowl of soup in his hands.

"Here you go, my boy."

Don took the glass gratefully and took a few small sips.

"Have some soup, Donnie. You need something in your stomach."

Don shook his head. "My tummy hurts real bad, Dad. I don't think I can keep anything in."

Alan nodded and sat down on the chair that Charlie had dragged next to the bed. He tucked the blankets more securely around his son. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm tired but I don't know if I can go back to sleep. Maybe, maybe can you read me a story?"

Alan gave his son a big smile. It had been a while since he had read his boy a story. "Of course, which one?"

"Winterspoon Tales," he said, pointing to the well-worn book on the shelf above his desk.

Alan reached up to take the book and they both noticed Charlie still hovering near Don's bed. Alan was about to ask if he wanted to sit in on the storytelling but thought the better of it. It was really up to Donnie if he wanted to share. It was a rare thing in the last few months for Don to have attention solely on him, ever since they had discovered Charlie's talent for math. Alan regretted it and hoped that it would not be a recurring theme.

Charlie looked hopefully at his brother, silently pleading with him to let him sit and listen to the story, too. In answer, Don moved over on the bed and lifted his covers a bit in an unspoken invitation. Charlie quickly scrambled up beside him and both boys looked eagerly at their father.

Alan opened the book and began to weave a tale about a little boy named Peter and his younger brother Billy.

Don's eyes closed as he listened to the soothing voice of his dad tell the story of how Peter and Billy got lost on a long, cold winter night and came upon a sad king who's little girl was kidnapped by an evil wizard and was guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. They promised to help the king by rescuing the princess, slaying the dragon and saving the kingdom with the help of their magical winterspoon.

He smiled to himself as he heard Charlie's small gasps of fear and delight as Alan continued with the tale. He could feel Charlie burrowing deeper into the covers, closer to him, as their dad described the dark, stormy and creepy forest that Peter and Billy traveled through in order to find the little girl.

Even in his sleepy state, and his brain slightly foggy because of his fever, Don reached out gently and whispered into his brother's ear, "Don't worry, Charlie. They'll get through it. You just wait and see."

Big brown eyes peeped out from under his favorite quilt as Charlie looked at Don. The fear clouding his eyes disappeared at his brother's words and he lowered the blanket to smile at Don.

"Billy's a little scared, but Peter's not… he's brave. But not nearly as brave as you are, Donnie."

Alan's recitation of the story paused briefly as he caught the words of his youngest son. The boys' relationship had recently come under some strain once Charlie's math talents had been discovered and the focus of both parents had been drawn to Charlie. Even though Don never mentioned it, he knew he felt a little bit left out. All that was forgotten at the moment, in light of Don's illness and Charlie's concern. Alan gazed down at his two boys with love and pride apparent in his eyes

The two boys never noticed the short break in the storytelling. Alan continued to read, his voice getting softer and softer as he noticed the two boys start to drift off to sleep. When he saw that they were both asleep, he closed the book, put it down and gently bent over his sleeping sons. Wrapping the blanket around the two boys, he ran a hand tenderly through their hair, kissed them each softly on the forehead and walked to the door.

He quietly opened it, turned off the lights and whispered, "Good night, my boys. Sweet dreams."

The boys slept, and their dreams were indeed sweet. They were filled with magical kingdoms, princesses and dragons that breathed fire. But more importantly, their dreams were of two little boys, walking side by side to face the evil wizard together, one with short hair, carrying a baseball bat in the shape of a spoon and a much smaller one, with curly, tousled hair, clutching a blanket with little pi symbols glinting in the moonlight.

They were holding hands.

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_A/N: Hope you enjoyed the story! Winterspoon Tales is a complete work of fiction. I could not recall the policy of using other stories within a story so, rather than chance it I just made one up. This story was in part inspired by another challenge posted by someone (I can't remember whom) asking for a story where Alan reads to his boys._


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